The Affliction of Richard Castle
by purplangel
Summary: He's never far from her thoughts, hovering in the back of her mind. The Detective in her, (not the warm-blooded woman, she keeps telling herself) yearns to know why her favorite author disappeared from the spotlight after completing the Storm series. She's never more shocked when a year later he steps off the precinct elevator, searching for her. AU/Romance/Co-written w/Retired1984
1. Chapter 1

**AU. Romance/Drama/Angst.**

**Special thanks to bravevulnerability for her inspiring story, 'Believing is Seeing'.**

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><p>She gasps when she recognizes the person stepping off the elevator, hobbling in her direction.<p>

Honestly, the last person she ever expected to see.

Someone who has been occupying her thoughts for the past year.

Twelve months of wondering if he's okay, wondering why he's disappeared from off the face of the earth as you can't find a single article written about him, or picture taken, since he killed off his lucrative Derrick Storm character.

Richard Edgar Castle.

His arm is linked through an effervescent, flamboyantly dressed, older red-head's and anyone who's a true Richard Castle fan would recognize her as his mother. He leans into her for support and must say something witty because she turns to him with a familiar smile, thin hand patting his lovingly.

Kate's indescribably drawn to him, honing in on his frame and even though she knows she's outwardly, rudely staring, she can't bring herself to look away.

He's an extremely good looking man, all six foot two of him, with eyes the color of the South Pacific ocean, but he's obviously changed... The expensive dress clothes hang a little loose on his large frame. The bigger-than-life vibrance which the tabloids portray is missing, the Casanova light dim. He favors his left leg, a brace encompassing it from thigh to ankle, leaning on his mother heavily.

As she watches him limp down the hall, lacking the cocky, brash nature he used to be so famous for, she can't help wondering for the hundredth time what trouble or tragedy befell him.

Her breath hitches when she realizes they're approaching her desk, his mother talking to him in dulcet tones. His hair is much longer than the photo on his book jackets, tendrils curling at the nape of his neck. The dark stubble smattering his face is thick, enhancing his dashing looks, but the Detective in her senses he just can't be bothered with grooming right now.

His eyes find hers for a brief moment and rapidly flit away, as if uncomfortable with his surroundings, - uncomfortable with her. The emptiness in their depths surprises and saddens her, a mix of emotions she's not used to feeling, - that damn wall of hers so high she wonders if she'll ever feel normal again.

The next moment he's standing in front of her, looking like a lost-little-boy, bereft, a man who's obviously hurting and in need of some help. His enormous blues reflecting something she can't quite decipher.

Her heart squeezes within her chest and she has to refrain from reaching out and touching him, trying to instill some of her inner confidence and light into him, an instinct to comfort him enveloping her.

_God, what the hell happened to her favorite author?_

His mother's voice, light and cheery, pulls her from the author, demanding the actress' attention.

"There's no possible way you can be Detective Beckett," she says with dramatic flair. "You're far too young for that title, dear."

Beckett isn't sure whether to be flattered or offended, but a blooming blush breaks free as Martha continues, "And might I add, far too beautiful to be relegated to the middle of the bull pen."

"Excuse me?" she chokes at the same moment Castle drones, "Mo - ther," in a chiding voice which reflects his embarrassment.

"Pardon my mother, Detective. She doesn't know the definition of tact."

She wasn't expecting his voice to be so deep or plainly dripping with sexual undertones, but she can't dwell on it because Martha quickly retorts, "I most certainly do. I just happen to be speaking the whole truth and nothing but the truth. Very fitting for a Precinct, don't you think?"

Kate likes her already. The outrageous, pumpkin-colored dress which screams, 'notice me' with every swish of movement and the painted blue eyes which reflect such pride and love for her son.

"Yes, I do," Beckett stands from the computer chair, holding her gaze. "I appreciate a forthright, honest person. Thank you for the compliment. Now, how can I help you, Mrs - ?"

"Just Miss. Miss Martha Rodgers and this is my son, Richard. I'm certainly hoping you can help us." Martha places Rick's hand on the back of the wooden chair sitting across from her desk. "My son has something very important to ask you and I believe it's best done in private. I'll leave you two alone. Richard, I'll wait for you downstairs in the lobby."

"Alright," he replies and after Martha turns away from them, he says in hushed tones, "You've been recommended, Detective Beckett, as the person I need to see."

"Please, have a seat," and she motions for him to sit down, but there's a commotion just outside the break room and he startles when the door slams shut, drawing his attention away from her.

His fingers nervously drum the back of the chair as he glances around at the hub-bub of the bull pen, eyes glazing over apprehensively.

She already knows what he's going to ask before the words even leave his mouth.

"I'd prefer to speak with you somewhere quiet... Is there somewhere we can talk privately?"

As she tugs on her lower lip in contemplation, he rushes on, "If now's a bad time, I can certainly come back later or set up an appointment for another day."

"No, no. Now's a good time. Follow me," and she spins in the opposite direction, heading towards the interrogation rooms.

After taking five steps away from him, her Armani heels clacking loudly on the precinct tile, she stops when she notices he's not following her. She glances back over her right shoulder, teasing, "You afraid to be alone with me?"

His quirky, over-the-top, I-can't-believe-that-just-happened smile causes her heart to bounce around in her chest.

"Afraid to be alone with a big, bad, beautiful cop?" he chuckles and his fingers curl around the top of the chair. "Not in a million years...I just... Must be a better actor than I originally thought if I can convince a Detective of your calibre that I can actually see."

_Holy shit, _and her eyes open wide with the realization... _Richard Castle is blind._

It's obvious now when she thinks back on the signs, the way his arm was linked through his mother's, walking slightly behind her as she guided him, - his reaction to the sudden, obnoxious slamming of the break room door, - the way his eyes don't quite meet hers, his head tilted slightly to the side, the emptiness that lies within their depths, surrounded by shards of sharp intelligence and undoubtedly trauma.

_No longer being able to see definitely counts as a traumatic event,__ especially for someone who's an author, _but the Detective in her screams there's something more, - and possibly the reason he came to see her today.

She's quick on the uptake with her response, not missing a beat. "Must have been distracted by your famous mother and that exquisitely tailored $5,000.00 suit."

"Oh, really?" he teases. "You weren't distracted by my bum leg or rugged good looks?"

"Nothing of the sort," she quips. "I never even noticed your pretty-boy features."

He laughs then, choked and unnatural, like he hasn't laughed in a very long time. "Good thing because right now, primping is impossible and I have no way of knowing how I'm perceived by the opposite sex."

"Hmm. I have a feeling you know exactly how you affect the female population," and then she's reaching for his hand, placing it on her elbow, leading him away from her desk.

"Ahh, there's the Detective I've heard so much about... Intuitive and witty... You had me worried there for a minute." His voice oozes charm as he continues, "How good of a Detective are you if you didn't even notice that I'm blind?"

"Well, I wouldn't have missed it if you'd come in with a cane... By the way, do you have one or just prefer to keep others guessing, **blind man**?"

As his mouth blooms into a sexy-as-hell smile, she's thrilled she pegged him correctly, as the type of man who likes to keep it real, prefers dark humor over blatant sympathy.

"I do have one," he chuckles, "but that's a story for another day. One I'll tell you about if you agree to help me."

For a man with an injured leg, he surprises her when he's able to keep up with her long strides, and _Jesus_, it should be illegal for someone to smell that good, his edgy, with-just-a-hint-of-danger cologne infiltrating her senses.

"Agree to help an obviously wealthy invalid? Hmm, that might be a tough sale."

"I do like challenges," he huffs.

"You look like a man who thrives on them."

His next step falters and his hip bumps into hers, his fingers squeezing around her bicep reflexively. The jolt of electricity that passes between them unnerves her, makes her sound breathy, "I'm taking you into interrogation room three."

"Ooo," he chides, "I've never been interrogated before."

"I highly doubt that," she chuckles and then strolls him through the interrogation room. Her fingers trickle over his before releasing them from her elbow. She says smartly, "The chair's right in front of you," knowing inherently he prefers his independence and can't tolerate being 'babied'.

A blanket of guilt shrouds her as she can happily observe him unhindered, appreciate his masculinity without him knowing, - appreciate the thick, sandy, wavy, hair, (No, her fingers aren't itching to run through those touchable strands) notices the hawk like nose, the large lips that look as if they specialize in bringing pleasure to a woman, the fine, chiseled jaw, and combined with his killer-bedroom voice and every-woman-would-die-for-the-color-of-his-azure eyes, the man is seriously one hot package.

A damaged, hot package at that.

She fights down the thought, _Damaged_, _j__ust_ _like you, Kate._

As she stares at his stoic nature, broad shoulders and straight back, she wonders if beneath the controlled, but fractured persona, hints of Casanova are longing to break free.

She finds it difficult to smother the fan girl as teenage Katie Beckett lurks just beneath the surface, hundreds of butterflies jumping in her abdomen as she sits across from the hunky author whose novels got her through the horrific loss of her mother.

More than words or just a story, his books became a lifeline to get her through those terrible years of disappointment, when all leads turned up dead end after dead end.

The butterflies still and diminish as she looks into the crystalline-blue depths of his eyes and there's only one word she can use to describe them.

Haunted.


	2. Chapter 2

She's not what he was expecting...

Sure, he expected Detective Beckett to be confidant, a commanding presence, a by-the-book, career woman, but beneath it all, there's a genuineness, a softness he didn't anticipate, an empathy he can feel from a foot away, and combined with the silky-smooth velvet of her voice, he's finding it hard to quell his involuntary body's reaction to her.

There's an aura of femininity about her that makes him feel alive, aware of every testosterone-laden cell in his body.

It's true what the medical textbooks say: When you lose one sense, all others are heightened.

When she stood up from her desk chair to address his mother, she was close enough that her scent wrapped around him. Sweet, ripe, just-picked cherries straight from the fruit tree wafted off her skin and for the first time in two and a half months since the accident, his manhood responded to a woman.

God, it's been so long since he felt this way, - cognizant of a woman, nerves firing in awareness to her cherry scent, the subtle nuances of her voice, authoritative one moment, teasing the next.

He hasn't stepped on the playing field in months, too worried about his daughter to think about the opposite sex, choosing to put his sex life on hold, but even though he's been on the bench for so long, it's obvious she's subtly flirting with him.

And he likes it.

A lot.

There's a smoky edge to her timbre when she purrs, "Hmm, I have a feeling you know exactly how you affect the female population," makes him wonder how she sounds naked and wanton beneath a man's touch.

He's grateful he couldn't find where he left his white cane this morning because she has to lead him into the interrogation room and he's learned you can tell quite a bit about a person's figure by just holding onto their arm, by the sway of their hip and the jaunt of their walk.

She's thin, but strong, her bicep rippling under his touch, attesting to hours at the gym spent in sparring, boxing and most likely yoga.

Her strides are long and he doesn't doubt she could take out a suspect in just under a New York minute with legs that must be a mile long...

_Mmm, _legs that could knock him salaciously down in the bedroom, easily take him down for the count.

She's tall, taller than the average woman even with her wearing heels, the clacking on the precinct floor echoing loudly in his ears. He's envisioning knuckle-biting, professional, fuck-me-any-time-of-the-day black stilettos and it makes him stumble, his outer thigh grazing the jut of her hip, his hand brushing against the firm swell of her breast.

_Shit, _his fingers tingle with need, flexing involuntarily around her arm, as the blood careens south, - deadly fast like a raging whirlpool.

_Get your head in the game Rick, _he thinks to himself, praying she doesn't look down and notice his ever burgeoning problem because the last thing he needs is a bright, dangerously feminine Detective getting the wrong impression of him.

He's thrilled she isn't cosseting him, but treating him like a normal, healthy male instead of an invalid who needs assistance at every turn. He smirks behind her back when her fingers release his and she states, "The chair's right in front of you," with a tone which shows she sees him as fully aware of his environment and able to handle the seemingly unknown with dignity and grace.

He hears her pull back a chair and sit across the table from him, hands reaching for a notepad, and as her alluring, fruity scent lingers in the air, for the first time since his accident, Richard Castle's overwhelmed by a strong desire to see another person's face.

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><p><strong>As she stares at his stoic nature, broad shoulders and straight back, she wonders if beneath the controlled, but fractured persona, hints of Casanova are longing to break free.<strong>

**She finds it difficult to smother the fan girl as teenage Katie Beckett lurks just beneath the surface, hundreds of butterflies jumping in her abdomen as she sits across from the hunky author whose novels got her through the horrific loss of her mother.**

**More than words or just a story, his books became a lifeline to get her through those terrible years of disappointment, when all leads turned up dead end after dead end.**

**The butterflies still and diminish as she looks into the crystalline-blue depths of his eyes and there's only one word she can use to describe them.**

**Haunted.**

"I appreciate you seeing me without any notice," he purrs sincerely and the deep, primitive bass of his voice makes her abdomen clench in awareness.

She smiles genuinely, warmly. "It's really no problem as you've rescued me from tedious, boring paperwork."

He's quiet for a moment, looks at her as if he truly wishes he could see every crease, line, and beauty mark on her face and then hums, "I've always liked the thought of rescuing a damsel in distress. Glad I could be of some assistance, De - tec - tive."

_Fuck, _the way he said, "De-tec-tive," like sweet, warm, dripping butterscotch has her mouth watering in anticipation, her panties slightly wet.

He splays his right hand out in her direction, "It's wonderful to finally meet you."

Her hand rises and meets his. "Nice to meet you too," and a surge of adrenaline slides through her veins when his fingers tighten around hers, thumb sensuously circling the back of her palm.

When he finally releases her hand, her fingers fumble with the yellow notepad of paper, because when was the last time a man had this type of affect on her? ... If ever?

She can't curb the curiosity about him that's seeping through her pores, eating away at her.

He's more intense than she ever imagined, direct, and even though she expected the enormous sex-appeal due to his womanizing persona, she's taken back with her own reaction to him.

As his eyes flit unseeing across her face, she gets the distinct impression he wishes he could read her, from the inside out.

"How can I help you, Mister, umm, R - Rodgers?" but the name sounds forced to her ears, - foreign, and she hopes that one day soon he'll trust her enough to go by 'Castle'.

"I have an unusual request," and his fingers twist together anxiously. "One that I hope you'll consider as I understand you're the best in your field."

"Best in my field?" she queries, and the smile adorning her face laces through her voice. "I am good at my job, but I'm afraid my skills may have been over exaggerated."

His eyes narrow in on her, shrewd, and he says assuredly, "I doubt that in the least."

"And who can I thank for recommending me?" she asks, hoping he can't hear the flirtatiousness rolling off her tongue.

"Someone you used to work with, and I gather," his voice hitches, "a significant part of your past."

_Well, that's damn presumptuous of him, _and goose bumps jump to her flesh at his piercing stare.

_God,_ this man's good at portraying he can see, because she'd swear he's ogling her mother's ring dangling on the end of her necklace, lying at the top of her breasts.

She raises an eyebrow and asks him quizzically, "Do you claim to have psychic abilities or just enjoy making assumptions about someone you've just met?"

"Pardon me," he continues softly, "I certainly didn't mean to offend you. It's just with your beauty..."

"My beauty?" she interrupts. "Just how are you envisioning me, Mister Rodgers?"

"Hmm, now there's a loaded question. I'll definitely need to do some research before I can answer you accurately."

She nibbles on her lower lip while thinking, _Me. Him. Research. Now there's a thought._

At her looming silence, he quickly continues, "I don't ever try to put a face to a voice until after I map out someone's features."

"Down boy," she chuckles, "There'll be no mapping of me today."

"Wouldn't dare think of it," he teases. "I only commented on your beauty due to my mother's description of you."

He slumps back in the chair, suddenly looking exhausted. A flash of pain mars his handsome face as his left hand digs into his injured thigh, rubbing in circles the stiff muscle. "Due to my profession, I tend to try and analyze people and while speaking with Agent Sorenson, - "

"Agent Will Sorenson?" Beckett jumps in, surprise evident in her tone.

"Yes, Federal agent, Will Sorenson. He's the one who recommended you and after doing my own research, finding out you're the youngest female to be promoted to detective in New York's history, your incredible closure rate on your cases, plus a woman who fights with every fiber of her being to find peace for the victim's families, - I couldn't agree more."

"I appreciate the praise," she husks, glad he's unable to see how his praise is affecting her, "but I work with a team. Esposito and Ryan are my partners and I couldn't have done my job as effectively as I have without their help."

"Add modesty to her list of attributes," he drones with a lop-sided smirk. "Yes, I know you're a part of a team, but you're also the lead detective."

"Why do I get the impression that nothing escapes your notice?"

She's amazed by the sparkling light in his eyes, the softness around his mouth, indicating she pleasantly surprised him.

But the mood is short lived as he replies, "Nothing, - rarely, - does," emphasizing every word broodingly.

She can't help wondering what angst lies at the heart of it.

She also can't seem to pull herself away from his eyes.

His eyes.

They're gorgeous, such a rare color of blue topped with long lashes, and even though they're not functioning, definitely the windows to his soul.

She sees incomparable sorrow, repressed anger and a fierce determination to ...

"Please forgive me in advance for overstepping my bounds, but I felt like I couldn't approach you with my request until all the pieces were put into place. I've already spoken to the Mayor about my plans and he gave me permission to speak to your Captain."

"You've already spoken with Captain Montgomery?"

"Yes, I've talked with him a good deal about my, - umm," he swallows heavily, "predicament, and he's already agreed to give you a leave of absence from the Twelfth."

_Leave of absence?_

A rope of resentment twists around her due to the nerve of this man going behind her back and trying to manipulate her life by seeking out her Captain first, but the genuine remorse on his face, the tears that well in his eyes, quickly dispel the negative emotion and she finds herself waiting with bated breath for his next words.

"I want to hire you, Detective Beckett," and he wipes at his tired, wet eyes. "I need you to save my beloved daughter's life."


	3. Chapter 3

**His eyes.**

**They're gorgeous, such a rare color of blue topped with long lashes, and even though they're not functioning, definitely the windows to his soul.**

**She sees incomparable sorrow, repressed anger and a fierce determination to ...**

**"Please forgive me in advance for overstepping my bounds, but I felt like I couldn't approach you with my request until all the pieces were put into place. I've already spoken to the Mayor about my plans and he gave me permission to speak to your Captain."**

**"You've already spoken with Captain Montgomery?"**

**"Yes, I've talked with him a good deal about my, - umm," he swallows heavily, "predicament, and he's already agreed to give you a leave of absence from the Twelfth."Leave of absence?**

**A rope of resentment twists around her due to the nerve of this man going behind her back and trying to manipulate her life by seeking out her Captain first, but the genuine remorse on his face, the tears that well in his eyes, quickly dispel the negative emotion and she finds herself waiting with bated breath for his next words.**

**"I want to hire you, Detective Beckett," and he wipes at his tired, wet eyes. "I need you to save my beloved daughter's life."**

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><p>Beckett doesn't know what she was expecting, but it wasn't this... <em>Alexis. His beautiful, innocent daughter is in danger?<em>

Rick starts, raking a hand through his hair. "Alexis is my only child. She just turned 16 years old and was brutally taken from me. She was kidnapped during a car accident that her captor staged and which caused my injuries.

I need you to track down the bastard who took her, Detective Beckett, - the bastard who did this to me, – who's destroyed any hope for current happiness."

Kate's quiet, contemplating his words, feeling the desperation rolling off him. Her eyes never stray from his face as she asks quietly, "Please tell me how you were led to me."

"I reported Alexis as missing to a police officer who happens to be an acquaintance of mine and he recommended I go straight to the FBI, - specifically see Agent William Sorensen because he's a retrieval specialist in kidnapping cases. Agent Sorenson and I spoke at length, discussing what could be done to help track her abductor, understanding I have explicit instructions from him to not involve the authorities. Agent Sorenson was not sure he could get involved since officially he couldn't help me 'off-the-books'. He was very understanding of my predicament and suggested I seek other avenues of investigation. He proposed I should possibly hire a private investigator. However, he was leery of the capabilities of Private Investigators, not being able to access official resources and about their ability to be discreet, so he made an additional suggestion."

_God,_ the way his eyes fell to hers, - searing, imploring, - she'd swear he could see and was actually looking into her battered soul.

A shiver crawls along her spine at his husked, "**You,** Detective Beckett."

"I see," and her front teeth pull her bottom lip into her mouth, an array of emotions assailing her.

"Agent Sorenson indicated he knew you from a previous relationship, had worked side by side with you in another kidnapping case... He spoke very highly of you and your investigative skills, said you were one of the most intelligent, intuitive detectives he had ever met, driven by your past."

At her soft sigh, hinting how uncomfortable she was with that subject, Rick continues, "He did not elaborate on that topic, only let me know that your history had helped shape you into the best female detective New York City has seen in the past decade. He said you simply exude empathy for both the victims and the families of the tragedies you investigate. Because of this empathy, and the explicit trust he has in you, he felt you would be the best choice to investigate my daughter's abduction. He indicated you would understand the delicacy of the search, but also the need to pursue it with all diligence and haste."

"Did he now?" and the lingering, wounded feelings she's felt over the past few months due to their strained parting rise to the surface.

A lighthearted grin envelops his face. "I think he's a fan of yours."

Kate's taken aback completely. She had been extremely close to Will, even thought he might be the one, but the relationship had not ended on the best of terms. He took a promotion requiring him to relocate to Boston and automatically expected her to move with him. She couldn't get over how presumptuous it was of him to expect her to abandon her whole life, her fulfilling job as lead Detective to move to another city with no promise of a new position once she got there.

And in the end, the deciding factor had been she just couldn't leave her father, who was making such great progress into his sobriety, let alone leave the NYPD and her co-workers, who were more like family. She couldn't leave her friends, her job, as her life was completely tied to the city.

She pushed aside the notion that her main factor for staying was to keep a close eye on her mother's case and ended her relationship with Will.

Having Will speak of her like this was beyond explanation, thinking she had burned those bridges completely when he left. She was surprised and more than a little flattered that he spoke so highly of her.

Rick's silky baritone brought her back from her reverie, "And I have to say, I'm starting to understand why he's a fan of yours, Detective Beckett."

_Fuck, he's good,_ that infamous Richard Castle charm rising to the surface and causing her heart to skip a beat.

"I'm personally surprised by the pedestal Agent Sorenson has placed me on, and I'm worried about living up to all the hype, but I will certainly consider what you have to say. Nothing causes my "Mama Bear" instinct to rise quicker and more fiercely than knowing a child's in danger."

She thinks back to the kidnapping case she and Will had worked in the past, the one where she met him and did not have a happy ending. The shared guilt and loss were the main factors in the attraction between them, but it hadn't been enough to keep them together.

"I'm happy to hear that," and the relief in his voice is practically tangible. "Of all the successes I've had in my forty years, she's the only one I'm truly proud of. She is the light and joy of my life. I can't express deeply enough how much I need her back." His voice chokes with unshed tears while continuing, "My life is nothing, - completely empty without her."

"Tell me how she was abducted."

"She was taken two and a half months ago during a car accident in which I sustained the injuries I have now. We were heading to the Hampton's, had just reached the outskirts of the city and were hit broadside."

His eyes cloud over as the memory assails him. "All I remember of the accident was this bright red truck coming at us at a high rate of speed. It was raised for off-road duty and was fitted with a heavy steel bumper carrying a winch. The truck hit my Ferrari in the driver's side door, the winch caving it in, and me. I suffered a badly broken leg, several broken ribs and sustained a severe head injury, resulting in the loss of my sight. However, thank God, I was cognizant enough to hear what happened afterward. I distinctly remember hearing a young man talking to Alexis, telling her not to worry, she was going to go live with him and he would take care of her, keep her safe."

He glances away, face turned towards the wall while he continues, "I'll never forget Alexis' cries... He pulled her from the car and she yelled, 'Dad, Dad, are you OK? LET GO OF ME. Why are you doing this? . . . DADDY!' ... She screamed bloody murder when he forced her into his truck and then she was just gone. The truck simply backed up and left."

Kate could see the rage welling up inside him, trying to fight down the overwhelming despair of losing his daughter. "How do the police still not have a single lead? Where were the traffic cams? How many of these trucks could there be in the city? This is an island for goodness sake. Why did this have to - ?"

His right hand slams forcefully down on the table at the same time a lone tear streams down his face. "She's only sixteen years old. Only sixteen."

Kate rises from her chair without thinking and sits on the table next to him, placing her hand gently on his arm. He flinches, but relaxes into her grasp, needing the comfort of her nearness, the comfort of her touch.

"Shit, I'm sorry," he apologizes, embarrassed by his outburst.

"There's no need to apologize, Mister Rodgers. I'm the one who's sorry for your heartache and suffering. No parent deserves to be going through what you are."

Kate's empathy floats through the room with every word, her voice flowing like warm southern honey. He feels the heat from her hand and it elicits thoughts he hasn't allowed himself to think of in years, not since his second divorce. A sense of safety and security surrounds him, something he hasn't felt in a very long time.

_Maybe, just maybe_, there's a light for him on the horizon. Maybe he will get to hold his little girl again. Maybe Detective Kate Beckett will be the catalyst in bringing a peace into his life he has not felt in many, many years.

_Jesus,_ he wants to see the color of her hair, her eyes, the shape of her lips, to assure himself she's just as striking as in his imagination, but deep down, - he unquestionably knows her inner beauty far surpasses her outward appearance.

Kate continues softly, "I hate to ask this question, but I have to know... Do you have proof of life?"

"Yes," and his eyes light up with hope for the first time since he entered the interrogation room. "The stalker who took her is hmm, - unconventional, to say the least. He's utterly besotted with her, believes he's head over heels in love with her and so he's given her some," - his voice scoffs while he raises his fingers into air quotes, "**privileges**...The deviant's hoping she'll return his affections one day." A tremor courses through his body at the thought. "He allows her to send a letter once a week, as well as skype with me for just a few minutes."

"That's actually fantastic news. It gives us a great starting place."

"Believe me, I've tried to trace this guy. He's a computer genius, knows how to route his signal through several major cities throughout the world, making it almost impossible to trace. I'm sure he is using an anonymizer site on the web. It allows a person to log in and have a new IP address assigned to make it look like he's someone else and somewhere else. He's good enough to bounce the signal over at least six hops. I'm hoping you have access to an expert computer hacker that's saavy enough to track down this psycho.

I want to hire you indefinitely, Detective Beckett, for however long it takes to rescue Alexis. Money is no issue; you can name your price... Just please say you'll help me... I believe you're my last hope."

She's thankful she's sitting down because the pleading in his voice makes her knees weak and she almost acquiesces right then and there, agreeing to help him, but she knows she needs time.

_Christ, could she survive losing another child? ... How would he if Alexis doesn't make it?_

"Well," she continues cautiously, "it sounds like both Mayor Weldon and Captain Montgomery are essentially on board and have already agreed to let me help you, but I do need a little time to think about it."

"Of course, I didn't expect an answer from you right away. I'm hoping to hear from you by the end of the week."

"Give me forty eight hours," but she already knows she doesn't need a couple of days.

Her heart's somehow already entwined with a deathly afraid, 16-year-old girl, and her broken father, with eyes the color of blooming blue peonies, and blessed with a gift of words that happened to save her wounded soul ten years ago.


	4. Chapter 4

**I'm sorry for the delay in posting this chapter. My hubby and I are finishing off our basement and it's difficult to find any spare time to write. I also apologize for this chapter being shorter than usual, but I figured you'd appreciate any posting at this point, lol.**

**Thank U for the incredible response to this story, readers, as reviews fuel the desire to write.**

**Hugs for all the support. ;)**

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><p>Rick is just pouring his second cup of coffee while tending scrambled eggs in the skillet. His mind is not on breakfast though as he wonders if Alexis has already eaten this morning. He wonders if she is warm, if she's being confined today where she can't move, and if she's as frightened as he is for her well-being.<p>

His mind wanders to the detective he met three days ago. The one with the sultry, soothing voice that's given him hope for the first time since Alexis was taken. There was a way about her, her hand lying softly on his arm that both quieted his nerves and gave him hope. He remembers being able to breathe deeply for the first time since the whole ordeal began.

A knock on the door interrupts his thoughts. It's soft, but with an intensity that indicates a person confident in their own abilities.

He hopes against all hope it's _her._

He moves easily through the loft, navigating the obstacles of chairs and tables with ease. Opening the door, he's immediately swathed in the soft scent of cherries, confirming his initial thought.

"Good Morning, Detective Beckett. So good of you to stop by this lovely day. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

_Damn_, his sixth sense is spot on if he knew it was her just by opening his door, and why did he have to look so fine first thing in the morning? ... And no, she's not acknowledging her body responding to the teasing charm in his voice.

"Hello, Mr. Rodgers," Kate responds, speaking softly, hoping he can't decipher through her tone just how she's feeling.

"Detective, I was hoping it was you."

His confession falls easily from his lips, completely without guile, and it's easy to tell it's nothing but the truth.

"Please come in. Welcome to my humble abode."

Rick steps to the side of the door, motioning into his loft for her to enter. Kate steps quickly inside and Rick closes the door quietly, not wanting to startle her or, in any way, make her feel uncomfortable. He steps back into the kitchen to attend to the eggs before they burn.

"You are sure welcome to take a look around while I finish cooking breakfast."

"Thank you, I will." she says while gazing around the loft in amazement.

His home looks like something out of the latest Jason Bourne movie.

Impressive, to say the least, especially for someone who has recently lost his eyesight.

On a desk in the center of the room is a full color, all-in-one printer / scanner / fax. A second scanner, which she guesses to be black and white, is alongside the all-in-one.

There are six high resolution touch screen monitors in a bank along one wall, all fitted with microphones for voice activation and optical character recognition. There are four computers, a couple of laptops and what appears to be a high capacity server / data storage system. All are on, operating silently in the background; the data received being logged automatically on the server, flashing lights evident on the server data buss.

With the speakers that adorn the walls between the monitors, it is apparent the entire system is designed to interface with the visually impaired, a fact that doesn't surprise her at all. She sees a high tech investigation center that would rival many small police jurisdictions, all assembled by this man, all just to bring his beloved daughter one step closer to being back in his arms.

Her heart breaks for this man who so dearly loves his daughter and has had her ripped from his embrace without any thought to him, or to Alexis herself.

"Please join me for breakfast. It's early so I'm sure this is your first stop. I have plenty. Eggs, fruit and the best coffee you'll find in the city."

Rick exhorts her to take a stool at the breakfast bar and relax for a few minutes.

"Coffee sounds wonderful."

"What's your choice of poison?" he asks with a child-lke grin. "I can make nearly anything you want."

Kate finally looks around the kitchen noticing the granite counter tops, high end stainless steel appliances and expensive pots and pans hanging from the ceiling. Her eyes light up once they fall upon the commercial grade cappuccino machine sitting on the counter.

Richard Castle is definitely no ordinary man.

"Can you make a skinny latte, two pumps sugar free vanilla? That happens to be my favorite 'poison'."

Rick smirks briefly when she says the word 'poison', secretly loving that she's parroting his words back to him.

"Paying attention, are you?" he responds.

"Now what kind of a detective would I be if I didn't listen to my employer?" She asks jauntily with just a hint of mischievousness.

His million-watt smile, which makes his eyes crinkle adorably, reflect what he's going to say next. "So, you've considered my offer and have decided to help me find my daughter? ... That's the best news I've had in months. How can I possibly repay you?"

"Oh, you'll get my bill," she says with a lilting laugh. "I don't come cheap and from the looks of this 'Command Center' it seems you can afford my measly salary."

"I'll happily give you whatever your heart desires if you bring my baby girl back to me."

_God, this man's good._

She doesn't know what's happening to her, why it feels so completely natural to be inside his place, the ease with which her heart responds to his words.

To him.

She sits quietly as they eat their breakfast, sipping the heavenly coffee, loving how she can watch him unhindered without fear of being caught.

She's amazed with how easily he moves about the kitchen, opening and removing only the items he needs for the task at hand, and if she didn't know any better, she'd never guess he was blind.

She notices how diligent he is in placing everything back in exactly the same location and placed in a specific manner. He's obviously adapted to his blindness with grace and humility. He seeks neither sympathy nor pity for his affliction, only acceptance. He's certainly no longer the playboy his Page Six persona implies.

This is a man who is so much more than what's been portrayed in the media. This is a man worthy of getting to know and it's easier than she'd thought it would be to admit to herself she'd like to learn more.

More about him in every single aspect.

Her eyes tear away from his blue orbs, skim down the protruding angle of his nose, over the stubble adorned chin, down the large Adam's apple and fall on the breadth of his chest, - wide, strong, muscular.

She'd normally find a man wearing a Batman T-shirt unattractive, childish even, but on him, it has the opposite effect. The larger than life comic book character emphasizes his broad pecs and massive guns, making her long to run her fingers along the hem of the shirt, research what lies beneath.

_Hmm, research,_ - definitely something she needs to do with him.

Kate breaks the easy silence with, "Rick... May I call you Rick?"

"Of course."

"The latte is amazing. I may have to agree with you that I can get the best cup of coffee in the city right here. Could I impose upon you for another?"

"Certainly." Rick steps back to clear the island of the plates and silverware and then moves to make Kate another cup of coffee.

She's enthralled with the composure in his movements, especially with the obvious injury to his left leg. The limp doesn't deter from his masculinity though, only emphasizes his sexy gait even more, bringing a quick kick to her pulse.

Oh, how he affects her without even trying.

"Here, you go. Hope it meets with your approval." Kate brings the cup to her nose and inhales the rich aroma of the latte. He's a master at this.

_I bet he's masterful at many other delightful things as well._

"I might keep you around after this just to make my coffee for me," she purrs.

"I just, - might stay."

He says the words in a lazy drawl which only heightens her awareness of him, makes her eyes fall to his granite-stone ass, making her wish they could've met under different circumstances.

The detective in her quashes the woman and reminds her why she's in her favorite author's loft in the first place... Alexis.

She takes a deep breath before delving in. "I need you to start from the beginning, Rick. When were you aware of Alexis' stalker? When did she start receiving texts? Gifts? Please tell me all you know or suspect about what has happened... Leave nothing out. Not even something you feel is insignificant, because just the slightest detail might be the triggering factor in finding your daughter."

His hands wrap around the coffee cup, fingers curling tensely, and those piercing blue orbs fill with apprehension, laced with agony, and she knows, before he even speaks, she's reopening a wound that might never heal.


End file.
